A Path to Home
by Reana-chan
Summary: Jason, amnesiac even after the Pit, sees Damian for the first time. More importantly, he seems familiar. 'Family', his mind whispers. And that's definitely not how family should be treated. And even when he doesn't remember anything he still ends up with a moniker of Red Hood./AU. Timeline? What timeline? M just in case. UPD: fixed a few mistakes and misses with italics
1. Chapter 1

He knew that face. He saw it on a painting somewhere, he didn't know where – just knew that it was _home_. It didn't matter, the only thing that mattered was the boy, who was training while obviously sick and thus failing outrageously. He watched as Talia snapped at the boy – Damian, apparently – while the child stood rigid, almost succeeding at trying not to sway. _'It's not right,'_ he thought as he slipped away before he was found snooping around, _'it's not right.'_ He found the boy later in a private room too big, too empty for a child. Damian turned swiftly, if not quite smoothly, as the boy noticed his no longer hidden presence, eyes slightly glazed and face tinted with fever.

\- Who are you?

And there was no answer he could give as Damian studied his unmasked face other than the very first thing that appeared in his head after he realized that he recognized the boy.

\- Family.

* * *

They got away using every trick the League taught him (which is probably why the kid stayed with him, come to think of it) – and some they didn't but he still _knew_. Which...wasn't all that surprising, actually, considering that he didn't remember anything even after the Lazarus Pit. Talia once said that it'll come to him eventually, but so far the only thing he remembered was that painting.

After, the clothes were first to go. He considered everything the League's instructors ever told him about hiding and going unnoticed, and did the opposite. Which meant colors. He chose dark cargo pants, combat boots and red hoody with black leather jacket over it for himself. Dark gray scarf tied around his neck under the pulled up hood fit well with the rest of the ensemble since the weather was cold – and was perfect to hide his face in a pinch, while temporary hair dye disguised the white streak in his hair which was his only really notable feature (somehow he couldn't bring himself to use the permanent dye – it was the proof that he _survived_). And then he promptly decided to go for the family look by underlining the similarities in their looks – by wearing similar outfits, with some differences so they won't look _too_ similar. Those differences were jeans instead of cargo pants, sneakers instead of boots, and color of the hoody.

(For some reason red goes with either green or yellow or both in his mind, and yellow was a definite no-go, so green it was. Well, worse come to worst, he could always distract the enemies while the kid disappears in the shadows.)

* * *

They went from country to country and from city to city, changing identities one after another and getting into fights once in a while – Damian needed more training, he won't always be there to protect the kid, though he made sure no one would miss their opponents and if anyone still decided to look into it the bullet wounds would be the only ones noticed (the League didn't use guns – so guns it was).

And then they came to America. Metropolis was their latest stop, and he was considering changing their image since the gang a few cities back called him "the red hood guy" before he and Damian took them down. In the end, he decided to change both their wardrobe and their current identities in this peaceful city – it was about time anyway. That's when it all went downhill.

First it was an attempted robbery gone messy – thanks in no small part to him because the Pit's side-effects decided to show up at that very moment. Before he – and the kid hiding in the shadows – managed to get away the victim decided to ask his name, and, since his head was a bit loopy due to aforementioned side-effects, he didn't find anything better than 'Call me Red Hood' to say. Thankfully, he didn't screw it up further before they were able to beat a hasty retreat.

But then again, they were screwed up enough apparently, because next thing he knows there's a blue-and-red freak swooping down from the sky and kicking his ass, easily, before Damian drops down in a vicious ball of black, green and fury.

He didn't know why the freak backed down, but he wasn't looking gift horse in the mouth, so they – well, they didn't run exactly… Ah, damn it. At least they were alive – and free.

And they still needed new IDs.

He groaned.

* * *

Superman followed the pair until they were away from any passersby that could be hurt in inevitable standoff before showing himself. He wasn't going to leave anything to chance. The red one attacked the moment he was seen while the smaller one stayed away, for which he was grateful. Perhaps the smaller one will give up when he sees that they're outgunned – and won't be hurt. They did stop that robbery after all, even if quite violently.

The red one was quite stubborn – and tough, to be honest – but finally he went down, though a bit harder than intended. And then the smaller one – _the younger one_ – dropped down, vicious and furious, and the bigger – _older_ – one – _still so young_ – started rising painfully – _thoughtlessly_ – with a downright _feral_ look in his eyes, and Clark–

He couldn't.

He just couldn't.

But... He frowned, as he watched the duo leave – hurried but wary, watching each other's backs and ready to take on the whole world if it comes to that.

Superman couldn't withhold the information about this Red Hood character from Batman either.

* * *

If you cared to actually look, Red Hood left a bloody trail across Europe before he came to stateside and did the same in a couple of american cities. Although, to be fair, it was more akin to a breadcrumb trail. Still, he was violent and dangerous, and – he stared at the grainy picture from Metropolis' CCTV – not above using a child. Usually, someone like Red Hood would be apprehended by Justice League, in this case Batman himself, seeing as this one showed traits inherent in the League of Shadows members – very subtle, but they were there. Yet, he hesitated.

These eyes, even with their feral look… They were familiar. Hauntingly so. It could be that he was just tired – the last few days were intense and didn't leave much time to rest. Still…

In another world, he decided to get a few hours of sleep, trusting Clark to keep an eye on the two, but the nightmares – the memories – woke him up much sooner, prompting him to take up a shovel. In this world, he chose differently, but the result was the same.

Exhaustion and still – _always_ – fresh grief loosened his tight control, and anxiousness moved his hand over the keyboard, activating the facial recognition program keyed to his children.

_All_ of his children.

He froze, eyes glued to the screen labeled 'Jason Todd', following every movement of the hooded person through the tiny alley, his face so painfully recognizable despite the smooth lines of youth giving way to sharpness of adulthood, watching a – _much_ – smaller figure with features disturbingly similar to the one on the painting in the hall slinking out of shadows join him–

_'He will annihilate the League of Shadows'_, came a distant thought.

But later. There were more important things to do.

His eyes sharpened, taking a dangerous glint.

Nothing will stop him.

* * *

A grave was dug out, a body was _not_ found.

The chase followed.

Star City was first, with Arsenal taking one look at the face under the hood and letting the arrow loose – at Batman. Then – after a few smaller towns – came Central City, with Kid Flash taking one look at Arsenal's stony face and determined eyes and taking off – and Flash taking one look at the snarl not covered by Batman's cowl, grabbing Kid Flash and getting the hell out of the dodge. Bludhaven was avoided by the dynamic trio, but he managed to force them to Gotham.

By the time Nightwing, following the rumors of Batman on the warpath, caught up to them, Arsenal was already taken out – and none too gently too – but both Red Hood and his mini-me were still putting up quite a fight.

It was Nightwing's arrival that allowed him to knock the older kid out while he froze watching the acrobatics with a hint of recognition flashing in his eyes. The younger one – still a child – gave a short, enraged battlecry as he attacked Bruce, who had his arms full with a tall hooded body, and Dick took the opening to send the boy to unconsciousness as well.

* * *

They met in the hallway. Two pairs of eyes met shortly and they stalked together, just two more shadows of predawn.

His head hurt. He wasn't sure if it was because of the knockout blow – or because these walls felt familiar, just like the face of that black-and-blue guy, even masked as it was.

They reached doors that opened to the hall – and all thoughts flew out of his head as he stepped out into the open, unhidden, eyes fixed on the large frame holding a family portrait. _The_ family portrait.

\- Home, - he breathed, - Damian, we're _home_.

From the doors behind them Bruce watched with a soft, sad smile on his lips as the boy – Damian – stepped out of the shadows to join his brother in the light.

* * *

Roy was pissed.

First, he was left lying unconscious for who knows how long in the mud and rain before he was oh so kindly picked up and taken to the Wayne manor.

Then, when he woke up, they tried to kick him out and glared at him when he refused to leave. Like hell was he leaving, that was his _friend_, dammit! And then they glared some more when they saw the white streak in his hair because the hair dye washed off in the rain. As if it was Roy's fault!

And they didn't even bother to point him in the direction of food, so he almost got lost in his search for kitchen, where the butler dude found him. Only to send him away with just a sandwich. And the last real meal he had was, like, almost a week ago.

Aaaand he was lost again. _Great_.

He kept grumbling to himself as he opened another damn door.

Oh.

Oh well.

Roy closed the door.

Guess he wasn't angry anymore.


	2. Chapter 2

Arsenal did get kicked out after a while — or rather, after he almost blew up the sitting room tinkering with an idea for a new arrow. Other than that everything was fine – not peaceful, sure, for Damian tended to treat everyone except Jason and – after learning of his parentage – Bruce with disdain, and that had potential to end badly since he also still carried some kind of a blade on him more often than not, but Bruce kept an eye on him, and Jason, the son he thought lost, joked with him just the other day. His children were home and safe, and everything was _fine_.

Turns out, it's not just Damian he should've watched for trouble.

* * *

It was a little over a month since they found themselves at the manor, and he went from confused and shaken all the way to stir crazy with boredom and a bit claustrophobic. He didn't like being stuck in one place for so long, his instincts from being on the run kept needling him that they had to move, it wasn't safe. He needed some air, he needed to move, maybe fight – it'd be stupid to get rusty even if they were finally home.

So he quietly let Damian know that he's going out, promising to take the kid with him next time – he'd rather not risk him before he got the lay of the land when he didn't need to – and then slipped away, knowing that he won't be missed for some time since he still retreated to the shadows when he felt overwhelmed. They learned not to bother him when he got like that, after a few times.

The city was dark and foreboding, but he found himself liking it, for some reason. Couldn't help grumbling to himself, though, because the repetitive feeling of deja vu was distracting. But that meant that Talia didn't lie when she said his memory will come back – just as she didn't lie when she said his name was Jason. He wasn't sure if he should be surprised or not.

He was on his way back when he heard a muffled scream. He paused, debating what to do, but checked his gear and turned to follow it after a few seconds. Some practice to keep himself sharp wouldn't be amiss. It turned out to be a robbery, with a girl in a waitress uniform as the victim. He took care to avoid lethal wounds, though one guy had a bullet too much to take him out in him because he was really annoyed – though mostly at himself, to be fair – that they recognized him, and as _Red Hood_ at that. Still, it was nothing some underground doctor couldn't fix, and he even made sure they'll be able to get to aforementioned doctor. He didn't know – didn't remember – Bruce's stance on killing, what with him being a cape and all, so he didn't want to risk it.

It was as he checked the surroundings, noting that the victim had enough of a brain to run away in the chaos, ready to continue back to the manor that Batman swooped down. Not wasting even a second before tearing him a new one. There were things like " permission " and " bloodbath " growled, but he didn't listen. He was too damn angry, because there was no bloodbath, all of the morons were alive and not all that quiet about it as they tried to get away while Batman was busy, and the vigilante should've noticed something like that, he solved crimes for crying out loud! So he interrupted, shooting a bullet besides the morons.

\- And where are _you_ going? If I'm getting caught, so are you.

He turned back to Batman, knowing his eyes were greener than they should be because of the Pit. Judging by the way the caped man froze, he noticed.

\- And _you_ don't get to lecture me. I'm not a goddamn kid, I can take care of myself. I don't need your permission to go out if I want to.

His voice took defensive tone at the last part, but he didn't really care. He felt caged, and angry, and the Pit wasn't helping any of it. The other man sighed, before tying the robbers, who stayed where they were, torn between wanting to escape, _not_ wanting to get another bullet in them and grudging awe at the bastard who was _arguing with the Bat_, checking their wounds in the process. That finished, he called the incident in and disappeared in the shadows, motioning for him to follow. It was a silent walk, that ended shortly as Batman slipped into the driver's seat of the Batmobile. After a moment, he went around the vehicle and dropped down on the other side.

He was surprised when, as soon as they were cut off from the world, the cowl slid down and he was left with Bruce, tired and frowning as he turned to him, obviously choosing his words very carefully, but still sincere – he could see it in his eyes.

\- I know you can take care of yourself, Jason, and I know that you're... you're not a child, anymore. But I lost you once, and I _can't_ lose you again. Any of you. I'm sorry if I come off as...controlling because of it. And I'm sorry for losing my temper just now. But we don't _kill_, Jason. We're better than that. _You_ are better than that.

\- I didn't kill them.

\- I know. I'm sorry. But I don't want my children to be… No, I'm saying it wrong. You are my children. I want to protect you. And killing... damages you. No, let me finish, Jason. I know that you killed before. I know that there's a possibility that Damian killed as well. It doesn't make me love you less. But every kill takes something from you. And I know that some people might deserve death. But it's not for us to decide, or we risk losing ourselves. And I want to protect you from that.

Bruce opened his mouth, as if to continue, but closed it, looking out of words and slightly unsure. He grumbled to himself, considering what he just heard, before sighing.

\- Fine. But I'm still annoyed at you.

He turned to look outside the window, watching Bruce give a small smile as he turned the engine on from the corner of his eye.

\- Alright. Ready to go home ?

He kept grumbling, Bruce kept smiling.

The ride was shorter than he thought.

* * *

It didn't take long for him to start wandering around after he got out of the Batmobile. He caught Bruce glancing at him from time to time, but mostly the older man kept working on the computer, checking that the criminals he took down were rounded up by the police and some other stuff, probably from his patrol. Usually he would take a look, but he was distracted by the familiarity of the most of the cave's layout. _'Guess I knew that he's Batman,'_ he mused, but that train of thought froze in its' tracks when he saw the suit behind the glass. He _knew_ that suit.

He must've made some noise or something because the next moment Bruce was there, calling his name.

\- It's _my suit_.

Bruce stilled, but before he could ask his eyes found the writing.

His mind stalled for a moment, a dizzying mix of white noise and flashes of his time with the League, and then he saw red, the Pit in his eyes and his voice as he snarled.

\- I'm _not_ a _soldier_ !

He whirled away and was gone in a blink.

* * *

Damian was _not_ amused, and he made sure that Bruce knew that. Bruce answered with even – if weary – _I know_s and _I'm sorry_s and promises to fix it. Dick was worried when he told him that Jason was gone, but took one look at him and didn't prod anymore, satisfied with promise of explanation later. For now.

Alfred wasn't happy with him, but cut him some slack and busied himself with removing that damn writing from the glass case, thankfully. But then again, he was the one who found Bruce on the verge of a panic attack after Jason disappeared.

Bruce looked all over the city for the rest of the night before the dawn drove him back to the cave. He ignored Alfred's proposals of sleep and food. He was exhausted, yes, but he couldn't waste time, and he couldn't stomach anything until he knew his son was home – or, at the very least, safe.

But there was nothing, and so, the moment the sun set, the Batmobile roared out of the cave.

* * *

He spent the rest of the night going through the wilderness around the manor, his progress towards the city purposefully slow as he tried to get the rage under control, but the Pit was still too damn close to the surface even after the few hours he managed to sleep. He forced himself to wait for the evening before he slipped into the dark small alleys that cops avoided. There was only one way to ease the burn of rage when it gets like that. He didn't like it, but he didn't have much choice either.

He hunted.

* * *

He started from the worst parts of Gotham as they were easier for someone with Jason's training to disappear in. He went by rooftops, as the Batmobile was too noticeable, pausing to scan the surroundings and listen. There was nothing. Crime Alley, Narrows, the docks … Nothing.

He aimed the grappling gun, intending to move on to the better neighborhoods, when rapid gunfire echoed from somewhere in the dark dangerous streets that he _already passed_. He bit out a frustrated curse under his breath and leaped in the direction he came from.

It was, in fact, Jason. And an impressive number of Black Mask's thugs. There was a vicious snarl on his son's lips and wild rage in his eyes tinted with a nauseatingly familiar green. He took note of it, but shoved all the thoughts away. Now wasn't the time. He watched as Jason practically dancing in the storm of bullets, untouched, working his way through the thugs – and leaving them alive.

His chest ached.

He saw one of the thugs trying to get behind his son.

His eyes narrowed.

The batarang flew.

Batman followed.

* * *

After, Jason turned to him warily, guns still in his hands an eyes angry – but without the rage or the green of the Pit.

\- What the hell do you want, old man ?

He quietly asked Alfred to call the police before answering, not bothering to tie the thugs up – they were in no shape to try anything, but still alive.

\- I want to talk. To explain.

He wouldn't admit the trepidation he felt as Jason scrutinized him for a few long seconds.

\- Not here.

He followed his son's lead.

* * *

He led the older man to a roof a few streets away where he sat on the edge, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and lighting one – Alfred was scandalized when he learned of that habit. He countered that it helped to mask the scent of gunpowder and was a better addiction than drugs or alcohol. He shook himself out of these thoughts as Batman awkwardly joined him.

\- You wanted to talk.

His voice was rough and tone sharp, and he scowled to himself at giving so much away. But he decided to give him a chance. Screw it, he _wanted_ to give him a chance. He wanted to hear his explanation.

There was a sigh, a second of silence.

\- You died, Jason. And I couldn't take it. Couldn't cope. And I couldn't afford that. Gotham couldn't afford that. I had to keep going. Perhaps, getting rid of the suit would've been better. But I couldn't do that either. So I felt that that was the only way. I tried to… to distance myself.

\- Thus the " good soldier " thing.

\- Yes. It wasn't fair to you, you were, are, more than a soldier. But you were _dead_, Jason. And it _broke_ me.

The last embers of rage died down, drowned by the grief he hears in Batman's – Bruce's – voice, and he laughed. It sounded hollow even to his own ears.

\- That's fucked up.

\- I know. I'm sorry.

He gave a side glance at the caped figure next him, eyeing the sagged shoulders, the bowed spine, the lowered head. Bruce looked exhausted, even masked as he is, and so was he. He sighed, making a decision.

\- I hope you remember where you parked.

\- ...Jason ?

He didn't know what got to him more – the barely veiled hopeful tone or that it came from Batman.

He suppressed another laugh. He suspected this one would've had more than a slightly hysterical edge.

\- I'm too damn tired for this shit. I want a shower. And the kid's probably freaking out a bit. I reserve the right to be angry at you for this fuck up in the morning, though. And the plaque goes down. I'm not a soldier.

He leaned slightly onto the caped shoulder, and a second later an armored arm sneaked around his shoulders pulling him closer.

\- You're not, Jason. You're my son.

* * *

He fell asleep in the Batmobile and woke up in his bed in the manor. There was a black cape around him and clutched in his fist and Damian snuggled into his side. He huffed a silent laugh and went back to sleep.

Seriously, too tired for this shit.


End file.
